“The powder?” said he. “It’s all right. I’ve got it in my room.”
“And the rods?”
“Yes, I’ve got the rods too.”
“Any matches?”
“Matches? Of course not.”
“Why, what’ll we do for lights and fires?”
“I hope you don’t mean to say that you would dream of taking matches,” said Bart, in a voice of solemn rebuke.
“Why not?”
“Why not? Who ever heard of matches in an Encampment of Knights? No, boys, flint and steel is the thing for us. That’s what I’ve got; and I’ve made some first-rate tinder, and a lot of sulphur lights. Besides, I’ve got something to surprise you.”
“What’s that?”